


Reunion - Bonus Content

by athenasdragon



Series: athenasdragon "official" dragon age canon [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Bonus Content, Companion Piece, Deleted Scenes, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:32:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: Deleted scenes and other bonus content from my Alistair/Cousland Inquisition reunion fic, appropriately named "Reunion." Not a standalone piece.





	1. Gwen's Guilt - Chapter II

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I feel bad for taking so long to post Chapter 3 of Reunion, but I typed out a lot of it and then decided to start over because I wasn't happy with how it turned out. However, I thought you guys might like to see some snippets of dialogue and stuff that got cut from the final version of the fic. I'll post those (and other!) things here in between working on the full chapters. Let me know if there's anything specific you'd like to see. As the fic develops, I may even post full bonus chapters here from different perspectives or something. Enjoy!

**Title:** Gwen's Guilt

**Type:** Deleted scene

**Context:** A fragment of conversation during their dinner together in Chapter II

**Explanation:** Having this conversation immediately after their reunion would have been rushing things a little. Don't worry, they'll work through these same issues in the fic--just later and in a slightly different format. Also what is characterization??

* * *

 

Alistair hesitated. “I’m happy to be able to help Ferelden, and I certainly can’t complain about the living conditions.” When Gwen gave him a skeptical expression, he sighed. “The last thing I want is to seem ungrateful, after everything you risked to put me on the throne. I really do appreciate it. But sometimes… it’s hard. I was so used to helping people by just swinging my sword at the bad guys, you know? And now, helping people means staying at Denerim and having meetings and forging alliances, and I’ve never been very good at any of that.”

“The people seem to think you’re doing fine.”

“The people see a lot of me, anxious as I am to get away.” He laughed, but this time it was humorless. “My advisors think differently.”

“I’m sorry.”

Alistair looked genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“I knew you didn’t want to be King, but I put you on the throne anyway.” She swallowed. “Then I left, after the coronation. I should have been there to help you.”

“You—what?” Alistair shook his head and put down the piece of bread he was holding. “Gwen, you had no obligation to stay.”


	2. Dream & Dinner: Alternate Chapter 3

**Title:** Dream  & Dinner

**Type:** Alternate chapter

**Context:** Gwen has fallen asleep after the War Table meeting; in the regular fic, she wakes up and goes to spar with Alistair

**Explanation:** So I wrote all of this for Chapter 3 and then ended up kinda hating it. I think the tone was too sappy, the characterization for Gwen was way off, and then the thought of maintaining a seven-way conversation for the entire dinner scene really sealed the deal on scrapping this. Here's what Chapter 3 could have been.

* * *

Gwen stepped out into the courtyard below her room. It was exactly as she had imagined it would be: springy emerald grass littered with the autumn’s first leaves; sunlight dappled over stone benches and planters; the damp, fertile smell of growth and freshly turned soil. Her hair, loose over her shoulders, fluttered a little in the breeze.

It felt good to be out of her armor for once. Instead, she wore a blue and grey dress that Leliana must have chosen after the colors of the Grey Wardens. She probably meant it to be humorous, but Gwen quite liked it. It kept the mountain chill from her shoulders and brushed the ground in an elegant way that reminded her a little of her mother—Eleanor Cousland had always worn the best gowns to balls and galas.

The garden was emptier than Gwen had last seen it; there wasn’t a Chantry sister in sight. In fact, it was a moment before she realized that there was anyone in the garden at all. She knew it was Alistair, even though his back was turned. He sat on one of the benches by a patch of elfroot, the sun shining off his Warden armor. Gwen called out to him, and he turned around, a soft smile on his face. Maybe it was his expression, or the sunlight, or just Gwen’s fancy, but he looked younger—more like the Alistair of the Blight than the King she had stood next to at the War Table.

“Gwen.” Her name was soft on his lips as he stood. She drifted toward him, head held high, skirts dragging lightly across the dewy grass. When she got closer, she saw something resting on his breastplate. Suddenly, she was standing before him, and she raised her hand to brush against the pendant.

His mother’s amulet.

“You kept it? All this time?” she asked. Her voice came out as a whisper. She remembered handing it to him, hands barely steady, and trying not to notice his eyes fill with tears. He had just finished yelling at her about allowing Isolde to sacrifice herself for Connor, but all the breath had gone out of him when he cupped it in his hands.

“I did.”

They were so close—just a few inches apart, really, and she was leaning in without realizing it—he bent down, ever so slightly—the amulet swung, glittering, off of his breastplate to hang between them—her hand was still on his chest—his lips—

“Gwen!”

Gwen sat up with a start, face flushed and warm, to see Leliana standing in the doorway.

“Gwen? I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s almost time for dinner. We’re dining with the Inquisitor tonight to celebrate the arrival of you and the King.”

Sure enough, the light slanting through the window was now golden with the day’s age. She had been dreaming. What a ridiculous, self-indulgent fantasy she had been entertaining; she chuckled, a little breathlessly, and Leliana looked concerned when the wheezing turned into full laughter.

“Gwen?” she said a third time. “Lady Cousland?”

“I’m sorry, Leliana,” Gwen finally managed, wiping tears from her eyes. “I was having a strange dream.” For the first time, she really focused on her friend—and on the dress she had draped across her arms. Blue and grey.

Leliana set the dress at the foot of Gwen’s bed and picked up the brush from the table beside her. “A dream? About whom?”

“I didn’t say it was about anyone.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Gwen glared at her unnecessarily perceptive friend, then at the dress. “How did you have that made so quickly?”

“I’ve had your measurements memorized for years in case of just such an emergency. I had it made when I heard you were coming.”

“You’ve had my—what?”

Leliana began undoing Gwen’s now-messy hair so that she could brush it out. “Yes, for some reason I always thought we’d attend at least a few balls together after the Blight. Perhaps in Orlais, or perhaps at the Ferelden court. I wanted to introduce you to the Orlesian fashions you seemed so curious about.”

The easy reference to court was not lost on Gwen. “Well, it’s not a ball, but I suspect you’ll enjoy styling me for dinner tonight.”

“I wonder if the Inquisitor could be convinced to hold a ball…” Leliana mused wistfully. “We attended Empress Celine’s, of course, but that was all business. An Inquisition ball would be a matter of business, too, but I might have _slightly_ more chance to enjoy it.”

“Just as long as you don’t expect me to dance!”

Their conversation was a little stilted at first, but they soon fell into the rhythm they had known before: an easy mix of gossip and speculation, personal anecdotes and business. Leliana filled in the gaps in Gwen’s knowledge of Inquisition proceedings, starting with the Empress’s ball and jumping through time and location from the fall of Haven to Morrigan’s mysterious research. Gwen caught her up on her travels searching for the cure, lingering on the more humorous moments—falling into the water in the Fallow Mire and having to fight off the undead sopping wet, being recognized by a bandit who insisted on handing over all his stolen goods—but didn’t skim over the pull of the Calling or her growing desperation.

By the time she finished, Leliana had brushed and plaited her hair and coiled it elegantly on the back of her head. Together, they struggled to get Gwen into the dress, which, upon closer inspection, resembled the one in her dream in color only. This one was very much in the Orlesian style: the corset was long, extending down to hug the tops of her hips and dipping to a point in the front and back. It had broad vertical stripes of blue and grey. Leliana helped her put it on over the dress itself, which was blue and soft and bared her shoulders. Fortunately, there were no stays, but once the thing was laced up it still forced Gwen to stand straight.

“So dinner is a formal affair, I take it?” she finally asked, staring at her reflection in the tiny mirror.

“The Inquisitor thought it would be nice to welcome you and Alistair with a meal,” Leliana explained. “We’ve only had a few days’ notice, but I think we have managed to put together something suitable.”

“I’m sure you have, if you could put together this dress in time.” Gwen smoothed her hands over her waist. “It’s… beautiful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it! I’m sure Alistair will too,” Leliana said brightly.

Gwen clenched her jaw. “Leliana, I know you’re trying to help, and I thank you for it, but for my sake, please leave it alone.”

“For your sake, I will _not_. I watched you two dance unhappily around each other for months last time. I can’t bear to see you do that again.” For a moment, there was a twinkle of a younger, more reckless woman in the spy’s eyes.

“Leliana…”

“Can you honestly say that you were not happy to see him?”

“What? I—of _course_ I was happy to see him! Leliana, you know what happened—I wasn’t the one who ended things.” Gwen forced herself to unclench her fists. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt again, and then again. “It’s not meant to be,” she said softly. “And it’s been ten years.”

“Hmm. Not meant to be, you say, and yet here you both are. I promise I had no hand in this.” Leliana tucked a stray hair back into Gwen’s braid. “Surviving Ostagar together, and Denerim… that sounds like quite the coincidence.”

Gwen reached for her scabbard out of habit but pulled her hand back when she realized that it wasn’t necessary for dinner. “I would love nothing more than to become friends with him again,” she said, “but that’s the most I could hope for.”

“Very well.” Voice light, Leliana nudged Gwen aside so she could adjust her cowl in the mirror. “If it is your wish, I won’t intervene.”

They stood in silence for a few beats while Leliana tugged at her sleeves, adjusted the folds of fabric across her chest. Gwen watched her, conflict pulling at her heart. It would be so tempting to fall into her old patterns with Alistair, just as she had with Leliana, but those patterns meant flirting and teasing—and that would be inappropriate in more ways than one. But what to say, if not the things she had said before?

She shook her head. She wasn’t the girl she had been then, too brash in battles and romance both. If she had learned one thing from years on the road, working with Teyrns and Arls and Grey Wardens and mercenaries, it was how to read a conversation.

So why was her heart beating fast and hard as though it wanted nothing more than to leap from her chest and cower in the corner?

Turning back towards her, Leliana smiled comfortingly. “Come on, Gwen. It’s just us. You’ve lived through worse.”

“You’re right, as always.” Gwen laughed, and it was genuine. “Thank you, Leliana. To think I’m sitting down to dinner with you and Alistair again, and Morrigan—will Morrigan be there?” Leliana nodded. “I never thought I’d see any of you again, truly, and certainly not in the same place at the same time. I’m more grateful than I can say.”

“Well, let’s get going then!”

Still a little sleep-addled and emotional (and trying to convince herself that the latter was due entirely to the former), Gwen followed Leliana outside, where the sun’s last rays were bathing Skyhold in orange light. They took a much more direct route than Gwen’s lost wanderings that morning. Soon enough, they were passing through the hall, which was once more filled with hordes of Inquisition soldiers.

Leliana led her past the doorway which Gwen knew led to Lady Montilyet’s office and the War Room, and instead they entered the next door on the left, which seemed to lead to nothing but staircases and scaffolding. They climbed and climbed, hugging the wall as they ascended, and Gwen realized that they were in one of the towers she had seen on her approach to Skyhold. Finally, they emerged into a room lit by torches and candles, already crowded with people.

The room must have been the Inquisitor’s private quarters; a bed and a vanity were pushed against one wall, sunk into the shadows. A fire roared in the hearth. Most of the room was taken up by two enormous tables pushed together to make one, which groaned under the weight of a feast fit for—well, fit for a king. Around the table, seated in a motley assortment of chairs, sat the Inquisitor, Commander Cullen, Lady Montilyet, Morrigan, Alistair, and a woman with a scar on her face who Gwen didn’t recognize.

“Warden Cousland, this is Seeker Pentaghast. Cassandra, Lady Gwendolyn Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden.” Lady Montilyet performed the introduction with practiced ease.

Gwen nodded. Seeker Pentaghast looked fearsome, she thought, but her returning nod was polite.

She took a moment to look around the table. She needn’t have worried that she would be overdressed in Leliana’s warden gown; everyone was formal, and no one wore armor—not even Cullen, whom she had never seen without plate mail and a blade. Morrigan wore a dress in the same style as Gwen’s, but hers was all in charcoal and purple. Lady Cousland, Seeker Pentaghast, and Commander Cullen wore varying styles of suits with rows of gold buttons down the front which seemed to bear the Inquisition’s insignia. Lady Montilyet was resplendent in gold and blue.

Alistair wore his leather jerkin from earlier in the day, now with a mantle lined with speckled fur clasped across his chest. The crown sat on his smooth hair—it looked heavy, Gwen noted, but he held his head high. He smiled at her across the table.

“Please, sit,” Leliana instructed, gesturing to an empty chair between Morrigan and Cullen. Gwen picked her way around the table and sat. She found she was facing Alistair. Of course.

Leliana found her own seat and nodded to the Inquisitor, who cleared her throat. “Thank you for indulging me in dinner, everyone. King Alistair, Warden Cousland, I hope you had a chance to rest after our meeting this morning.”


	3. Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm taking my sweet time posting the new chapter--it's a long one, and also this semester has been a dumpster fire. Here's a little something in between!

**Reunion Playlist**

_Here's what I listen to while I write. I know some of the songs are cliche or don't work perfectly, but this is just my own playlist--besides, Gwen and Alistair are a sappy couple! If anyone has songs they think I should add, please please leave a comment._

https://open.spotify.com/user/livylouisew/playlist/2ZFS236cVqBt9hhAHNU9B5

"The Cure" by Lady Gaga

"Rather Be" by Clean Bandit feat. Jess Glynne

"Love on the Brain" by Rihanna

"Million Miles Away" by Keegan Allen

"Stone Cold" by Demi Lovato

"She Loves You" by The Beatles

"Ain't No Mountain High Enough" bu Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

"Bulletproof" by Griffin Oskar

"Learn to Let Go" by Kesha

"Good Old Days" by Macklemore feat. Kesha

"I'll Make It Up to You" by Imagine Dragons


End file.
